Don’t tell me you haven’t done this. You have sooo done this.
Working the week after Christmas wasn’t easy. Stuffed with ham, turkey, chocolate, OJ, champagne, green beans, coffee, and smoked salmon, I waddled into my cubicle feeling bloated. It was compounded by all the leftovers everyone was sharing in the lunchroom. My self-control stinks; in December it’s worse. On the third day, several people were out sick with the flu, so I thought maybe I was coming down with something, too.
After a salad for lunch, my innards would not be denied. I ran to The Room and took a seat.
“FRAAAATTTTTLLLBBBBBBRRRRRR”
Emptying that much gas would make anyone feel better. And now I knew I wasn’t sick. It was embarrassing, but luckily no one else was in the restroom. I stood up, thankful I would be able to enjoy the upcoming three-day weekend.
But oh, no. That was just the overture. The orchestra was just warming up. Kind of like when you top off your gas tank, this was just the small spillage because the system couldn’t hold any more. You’ve heard of a collapsed lung? I was about to experience a collapsed abdomen, in one long uninterrupted Hindenburg deflation that started at my eyebrows and ended at the Earth’s core.
At 100% full, the bassoons filled the tiled room with a rich bass that vibrated the steel of the stalls.
At 90%, the trombones entered with a blatty fanfare, a strong baritone counterpoint to the increasing cacaphony.
At 80%, the pipe organ chimed in with an exuberant thrumming, pounding easily under the door and through the walls. The absurdity of it all started me to laughing. “PMMMMTTTHHHHHHBBBBRBL! Hee hee heee!”
70% - two people down the hall discussed their sadness that Christmas was over, so I caroled them with “Shall I play for you? bum rumpa bum bum!”
60% - someone in the ladies’ room next door pondered how a goat could be giving birth on the fourth floor.
50% - at a deposition in the second floor attorneys’ office, a stenographer could not figure out how to translate “BBBRROMMMMMLLTTTAHHBBBB cackle cackle cackle.”
40% - a chorus of car alarms started in the grocery store parking lost across the street.
30% - at Caesar’s Palace 15 miles away on the strip, a young man on his honeymoon placed his last $20 on a black spin of the roulette wheel. He was dismayed when red came up, but delighted when an unexplained temblor bounced the ball onto black.
20% - herds of hippopotamus descended on Lake Mead 30 miles away, answering what they thought was a massive apocalyptic mating call.
10% - the moon scooted 2 inches farther out in its orbit.
With a final *squip!*, the whoopie cushion that was Kingfisher ended its performance and took its final bow. And there I was, a thundermug gnome, wiping my teary eyes with TP. Strangely, that’s all I needed it for; the rest of me was fine and dandy.
On January 1st, as is my family’s tradition, I will make a big pot of black-eyed peas. I will eat extra helpings, and hopefully amuse myself, my children, plus the entire state of Arizona.
Working the week after Christmas wasn’t easy. Stuffed with ham, turkey, chocolate, OJ, champagne, green beans, coffee, and smoked salmon, I waddled into my cubicle feeling bloated. It was compounded by all the leftovers everyone was sharing in the lunchroom. My self-control stinks; in December it’s worse. On the third day, several people were out sick with the flu, so I thought maybe I was coming down with something, too.
After a salad for lunch, my innards would not be denied. I ran to The Room and took a seat.
“FRAAAATTTTTLLLBBBBBBRRRRRR”
Emptying that much gas would make anyone feel better. And now I knew I wasn’t sick. It was embarrassing, but luckily no one else was in the restroom. I stood up, thankful I would be able to enjoy the upcoming three-day weekend.
But oh, no. That was just the overture. The orchestra was just warming up. Kind of like when you top off your gas tank, this was just the small spillage because the system couldn’t hold any more. You’ve heard of a collapsed lung? I was about to experience a collapsed abdomen, in one long uninterrupted Hindenburg deflation that started at my eyebrows and ended at the Earth’s core.
At 100% full, the bassoons filled the tiled room with a rich bass that vibrated the steel of the stalls.
At 90%, the trombones entered with a blatty fanfare, a strong baritone counterpoint to the increasing cacaphony.
At 80%, the pipe organ chimed in with an exuberant thrumming, pounding easily under the door and through the walls. The absurdity of it all started me to laughing. “PMMMMTTTHHHHHHBBBBRBL! Hee hee heee!”
70% - two people down the hall discussed their sadness that Christmas was over, so I caroled them with “Shall I play for you? bum rumpa bum bum!”
60% - someone in the ladies’ room next door pondered how a goat could be giving birth on the fourth floor.
50% - at a deposition in the second floor attorneys’ office, a stenographer could not figure out how to translate “BBBRROMMMMMLLTTTAHHBBBB cackle cackle cackle.”
40% - a chorus of car alarms started in the grocery store parking lost across the street.
30% - at Caesar’s Palace 15 miles away on the strip, a young man on his honeymoon placed his last $20 on a black spin of the roulette wheel. He was dismayed when red came up, but delighted when an unexplained temblor bounced the ball onto black.
20% - herds of hippopotamus descended on Lake Mead 30 miles away, answering what they thought was a massive apocalyptic mating call.
10% - the moon scooted 2 inches farther out in its orbit.
With a final *squip!*, the whoopie cushion that was Kingfisher ended its performance and took its final bow. And there I was, a thundermug gnome, wiping my teary eyes with TP. Strangely, that’s all I needed it for; the rest of me was fine and dandy.
On January 1st, as is my family’s tradition, I will make a big pot of black-eyed peas. I will eat extra helpings, and hopefully amuse myself, my children, plus the entire state of Arizona.
6 comments:
hint: never EVER eat a whole packet of breath mints that say "excess consumption may have a laxative effect" - laxative my ass..... the echo in the bathroom at work is POWERFUL - people 5 buildings away commented.
Not that it was me. Of course not.
actually, the person concerned honestly had "liftoff" from the seat.
And that's not a joke.
Hilarious. Spitting laughter.
Tiff sent me.
Oh, dear Lord. I'm crying!
Tiff talked about this post this weekend and it was just as good as she said! "bum rumpa bum bum"... unbelievable.
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